


perspective

by Bugggghead



Series: origins [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017) RPF
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, a study in the process of the capture, about the photography, cole's POV, creative conjecture on real life, muse!lili, photographer!cole, thanks liz for that last tag (i'll use it forever and ever and ever), the process of capturing the perfect picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:26:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/Bugggghead
Summary: The lines of your limbs called to my lens. The sweep of your stretch, the bow of your back, the curve of your lip. I wanted to capture it all. I wanted to show you who I saw when I looked. Who I wish you’d see the same. But mirrors are never as kind as others’ eyes, and even less so than mine.ora short study in the process of taking the perfect shot





	perspective

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work of fiction. while i do use real names, the events described are entirely derived from what they chose to share with us. no offense was intended. if rpf isn't your thing - please don't read. once again i fell into first person POV while formulating this and it took me along for the ride so i hope you all stick with me as i continue to stretch my creative legs!
> 
> -
> 
> this is still a gigantic step outside of my comfort zone. i've been sitting on this for a little bit now working up the nerve to post it. every single one of my sprousehart works forever and always will be inspired by @paperlesscrown who is an inspiration on a daily basis. i can firmly (still) say this wouldn't even exist with you, liz.
> 
> huuuuuge thanks to @paperlesscrown, @sunlitgarden, @betty-cooper, @noorakardemmomesaetre, @peaceblessingspeyton, and @jandjsalmon for all of your kind, encouraging words.

The lines of your limbs called to my lens. The sweep of your stretch, the bow of your back, the curve of your lip. I wanted to capture it all. I wanted to show you who I saw when I looked. Who I wish you’d see the same. But mirrors are never as kind as others’ eyes, and even less so than mine. 

Perspective - a term every photographer should be well acquainted with. The view behind the lens was always far different than what the eye could see. But not with you. The thin glass separating us only framed your features more fiercely. Only captured the spirit that enveloped your being. I never wanted to stop. 

You'd twist, I'd crouch, and we'd dance like that, my boxed in image straining to capture what was so uniquely you. Your essence, I'd muse. 

But despite my best efforts, my bend to your stretch, it always felt as if I was falling short. As though no menial paper, no matter how glossy, could possibly contain the multitudes hidden beneath the surface, shimmering through each smile and seeping through the frame. 

It was the moments between, the fragmented seconds when your smile would fall, you'd breathe in deeply and just be. Be there in the field, on the beach, on the roof. Those precious few moments with no direction at all when my camera would chase your natural grace, your natural state of being and the beauty held within. You were born for the lens, for these stolen moments and memories made deep in the heart of the wilderness when nothing was more true than the sight of you, bare-faced, beautiful, organic, as real as the trees we’d trek between. 

With the camera around my neck, I’d watch, waiting for your responses. I saw things anew through your eyes, your expert observations tilting my view, skewing the scenery into something brand new, beautiful in its own way. I’d see it through your perspective, and it was stunning, as were you. Who knew you’d have such skill, such raw, natural talent at picking apart the scenes, finding the perfect setting and blending in as if you belonged there. But you did, belong there, with me, in my frame, in the view you’d chosen and I’d snap away the snippets, storing the images for another time. 

I’d look back on our adventures, fondly, with a warmth I knew only as you, and who you were to me, who you were with me. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, you’d wrap me in your being. And I would forever be pliable under the weight of your adoration, your admiration. 

You see, it was never about the escape, though the trips would forever be among my favorite memories. No, it was about capturing the moments, putting a frame around singular seconds and carrying them with us into the future. It was about creating the catalog of our lives, frame by frame, shot by shot, second by second. It was about the ability to look back and reminisce on who you were becoming and what we would evolve from - who we used to be. It was about the origin of us, and my desire to store fleeting fantasies somewhere other than my own memory. It was about sharing those stolen seconds in the years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @bugggghead
> 
> comments ALWAYS appreciated (even though i'm notoriously bad at replying, i promise they all mean SO much)


End file.
